


The Silver Fox and the Fledgling

by YunaBlaze



Category: Assassin's Creed, Watch Dogs - Fandom
Genre: Clueless Hastings and Crane, Courrier Desmond, Fluff and Angst, Friendly Defalt, Friendship/Love, Innocent Nicole, Juno and Minerva playing chess with the characters as their pieces, M/M, Multiple Mentions of Past Assassins and Templars, Plotting Brenks, Protective Aiden, Slow Build, Some Character might be a bit OOC, Spying Stillman, Tyrannical William "Bill" Miles, Viddic and Osto Berg simply trying to make everyone miserable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-04-13 01:17:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4502223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YunaBlaze/pseuds/YunaBlaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Desmond Miles ever set foot in New York City's Bad Weather Bar, he first arrived in Chicago, where he found an unlikely family. The Pearce family was kind and caring and the young man thought he could forget the whole thing about Assassins and Templars. Sadly, his past was slowly catching up to him from the shadows and the discovery of a secret from his Chicago family being connected to the Assassin and Templar War was not helping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Migration

**Author's Note:**

> I am slightly annoyed by the fact that no one is picking up the challenge of Aiden Pearce/Desmond Miles pairing. There are barely any good story with them and even less drawings. Then coupled with a large amount of annoyance and a pinch of impatience, this story is born. This story is not beta'd, so there might be some mistakes in it, please forgive me for that and hope that it doesn't spoil it too much.

Migration

Desmond Miles was lost. Lost in this sea of crowds and noises, he was drowning in it, but it was a rather enjoyable experience. This chaos around him meant he was free. No more tough trainings from his tyrant of a dad, no more stupid stories about Assassins and Templars and no more tensed silence from the Farm. All of which the 16-years-old had enough of. Still he should be thankful of the torture he had went through in those daily trainings, it had helped him during his escape from that wretched place and no one noticed his disappearance until he was long gone. While his freedom was difficult to achieve, he still had slightly bigger problem... he had no money of whatsoever...

Desmond sighed heavily as he leaned his head back against the bench he had spent time with for almost two hours before his brown eyes went back to study the multiple cameras that were placed strategically to catch almost every spot within the large public green area and most of them could clearly see the water fountain that decorated the center of the park. This wasn’t the only place that was covered with cameras, almost every district he passed by had some in every corner. The large amount of video surveillance in this city gave off this paranoid and oppressive impression. He did not believe he would say that, but he had to, Chicago was more paranoid than the Farm. It was also those video cameras that had been making his life miserable since he set foot in the city of crimes, seeing that he could barely reach for someone’s wallet without spotting one of those annoying devices within the vicinity. The thought of those securities made the young man sighed tiredly once more as he muttered to himself, ‘I used to be so good at this.’

By this, he meant scouting and pickpocketing, those were the only two skills he was ever given praise from, albeit in a very brief and shrug off way if one listened to the person’s voice closely. The fighting and hacking were not his fortes and that made his father even more strict and hard on him. In this city, his skills were extremely tested. _How or where the hell can I go without another camera following my every move? Those things would record me stealing stuffs if I’m not careful!_

The man finished his thought morosely as he rubbed his hands over his face, he felt like shit and he was pretty sure he looked like shit too. Desmond looked down at his slightly dirty white hoodie, beneath it was his favourite black shirt with a grey-coloured eagle, and beside him was his black sport shoulder bag that contained some money he managed to pick from his dad’s safe before he ran away, some fresh clothes that he favoured and some foods that would help survive three more days or a week if he was being careful. If he did not get any more money at this rate, he would end up starving on the streets.

A loud cry suddenly sounded in the peaceful silence, causing the young man to jump up from his seat, senses on high alert before his eyes caught sight of a white object flew over his head and lightly landed on the water of the fountain, making him blink owlishly at the small white hat before he was drawn to a blonde-haired pregnant woman who ran towards the edge of the ornamental structure with a distressed face. The woman who looked around his age, her yellow hair shone like shiny gold and wore a simple white dress, stretching her hand towards the hat that remained out of her reach. A young brunet came beside her and held her back from the fountain, whispering something to each other, but whatever was said clearly made the woman upset judging by the frown that covered her entire face.

Desmond looked between the object and the woman for a minute before he went and took off his black-and-white sneakers and dirty white socks. Carefully, he stepped into the cold water of the decoration, ignoring the odd stares on his person and went to pick up the hat, shaking it slightly to get rid of the dripping water before he made his way to the couple.

With a tiny smile, Desmond extended his hand that held out the straw hat to the woman with a small smile before he gently asked, ‘Is this yours ma’am?’

‘Yes,’ the lady replied with a thankful nod as she took the wet hat and flashed a triumphant look at the man beside her. ‘See Francis? If you can act like a gentleman like this young man here, I won’t have to move so much.’

The comment brought a frown to the brown-haired man who glared at Desmond in an almost murderous manner. Miles let out a nervous cough as he stepped out of the fountain, cringing slightly at the feel of the hot burning concrete, and hurried to retrieve his socks and shoes. He was about to say his farewells and take his leave when his stomach decided it should say something and it did so rather loudly. The sound made his face grew as red as a tomato as he buried his head in his hands to hide his embarrassment. _I just haven’t eaten for five hours! Give me a break you stupid stomach!_

The woman laughed lightly at the growl of his stomach as she gently placed her hand on his shoulder and announced, ‘Seeing that you just save my favourite hat from being drown, I think that deserves a small late lunch and early supper on my part. How about the Seaside Restaurant?’

‘No, it’s okay,’ Desmond stuttered loudly as he shook his hands and head in emphasis of his refusal. He had seen the Seaside Restaurant in a distance when he had first came into Chicago, it was an extremely fancy restaurant and half of the guests wore business suits or fancy dresses, there was only one guy who wore jeans and t-shirt and everyone kept sending judging glances at him. He had no interest of being that guy, especially the fact that the appearance he had right now screamed out the fact that he was a homeless.

‘Please?’ the woman pleaded with a kicked-puppy pout.

The look made Desmond munched the inside of his lips in hesitation, because his training never involved how to resist someone’s cute puppy pout and he was never skilled with words to begin with. _Thank you, whatever bastard or bitch who sat upstairs and give me this fucked up verbal logorrhea._

‘Alright,’ he reluctantly muttered under his breath with a defeated look and his fingers tugged and pulled whatever the object he was holding, grimacing slightly at the gleeful giggle the lady made while ignoring the intense and unnerving glare from the husband. _What the fuck is wrong with this guy?_

‘It’s just a few blocks away, we’ll be there before you realize it,’ the pregnant woman announced happily before she tugged at her husband’s arm to get him to move.

‘Honey,’ Francis started in strained voice while Desmond tugged on his shoes, ignoring the wet feeling his soaking feet felt in them, and followed the couple as he slung his bag over his shoulder. ‘I think I should get the car, it’s not good for you to walk all the way to Seaside and just come back here later for the car.’

‘I need the exercise, Francis,’ the blonde said with a smile as she lightly traced her hand over her stomach. ‘Our baby needs it.’

‘I know,’ the brunet said tiredly with an irritated sigh.

Miles felt awkward hearing this lover spat between them and he immediately disliked this feeling of being the third wheel within this _sensitive_ topic. The brunet tuned out the conversation in favour of studying his surroundings, because he still needed a place to sleep in after all.

Desmond thought with a shake of his head. _Focus on getting food now, there’s still some time before night comes. I have time to look for shelter._

When they arrived to the restaurant, the brunet stared at the guests with an uneasy smile as he entered after the couple, following the woman more closely as they were led to their table. Their waiter left them with the menus before he went to get some refreshments, Desmond was glad to have something to hide his face from when the waiter told the man he had a very shy brother, which was him. The husband did not look Hispanic as many people thought Desmond was originated from because of his tan skin and his thick black eyebrows while he was pretty much your every day Caucasian.

The young man ignored the furious gaze that was burning holes into the menu to glare at him and simply concentrated all of his attention on the words printed on the pages of the leather bound menu. He had to remind himself to be mindful of the prices, not wanting to stress the kind wife’s charity anymore than setting off the grumpy husband’s time bomb. Desmond thought about just ordering a simple sandwich, but the price for some of them was ridiculous and some had too much food on the plate, not something he wanted, seeing that his father _dearest_ had pretty much starved with diets that barely filled his stomach enough to survive the harsh trainings thrown on him. He had tried to eat extra one time and he ended up throwing up everything he had eaten.

The fugitive continued to flip through the pages, trying to find something that was not too expensive, a dish that would fill his stomach and did not have any unnecessary side dishes. His finger soon traced one that had a good price and with a simple salad on the side, nodding his head in approval before he turned to the page of drinks, curious at what this restaurant had. The alcohol drinks had their own unique and weird name. Who the hell called a drink Long Island Iced Tea? And said drink had no tea of whatsoever in it, there were only Tequila, Gin, Vodka, Rum and Triple sec (whatever that was). Then his eyes landed on a name that he had taken a double-take from, Shirley Temple. This slight reaction made Desmond felt like he had turned into the paranoid bastard his father was, he thought it was written Shirley Templar. The thought of the name made the young man chuckled lightly.

‘What’s so funny, young man?’ Francis demanded bitingly, which earned him a slap of disapproval from his wife.

‘It’s nothing,’ the brunet replied neutrally. ‘Just recalling a joke that runs in my family.’

The older male sneered at his remark before their waiter came with their water and casually asked, ‘May I take your order?’

‘I would like a Classic Caesar Salad,’ the blonde ordered with her eyes locked on the pages. ‘Roast Potatoes and Chicken Cacciatore.’

Without missing a beat, the husband began, ‘I want a Fried Zucchini with Chicken, Fettuccine Alfredo and Seafood Clam Chowder.’

_Wow. That’s heavy as Hell._ Desmond inwardly thought with a frown at the Calories Bomb Grenade Francis had just ordered compared to the healthy set the lady had. When he noticed the waiter’s gaze on him, he quietly ordered, ‘A Scampi Shrimp Spaghetti and an orange juice, thank you.’

It sounded weird ordering these, but he had just been recovering from starvation, so he couldn’t overdo his meal, there was also the fact that he was not paying the bill for this one, so less was better.

‘Are you sure that’s enough?’ the pregnant woman asked kindly. ‘If you want another appetizer, it’s not a problem.’

‘No, it’s alright miss...’ Desmond trailed off lamely as he realized that he hadn’t even asked her name yet.

‘Oh, right, I haven’t introduced either of us. My name is Nicole Pearce and this is my husband Francis Penham,’ the blonde introduced them with a gentle smile that reminded Miles of his own mother dearly. Despite being an Assassin and knowing that the fear the Templars might discover them was constant, his mother, Ojistah Miles nee Skenondoah, wanted him to have a childhood too and would give him more free time from training than forcing to train until he could barely stand on his two feet like his father did. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Um, it’s Desmond. Desmond Miles,’ the young name answered with a nervous tone, uncertain if he should have used his surname to begin with. While he might be free from the Farm, he doubted they wouldn’t try chained him back with multiple threats and the paranoia of Templars being everywhere had beaten into his head.

‘Well, it’s nice to meet you, Desmond,’ Nicole said with a bright smile before she turned her attention to her husband. ‘What about Desmond, Francis? Gracious defender. That’s a nice name for our baby.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Francis interjected without a care. ‘Why not something like, Ethan?’

‘It means forever spoil,’ Miles muttered under his breath before he went and covered his mouth with the cup of water.

‘That’s... not nice,’ the wife commented with a strained smile, which only made her husband looked more furious than before, though she quickly returned to her cheerful self. ‘What sort of name do you suggest for our child, Desmond?’

The young man sputtered slightly, coughing out water and feeling some of the liquid had gotten into his nostrils, and hesitantly questioned, ‘Me?’

‘Yes,’ she affirmed with a nod. ‘You seem to know a lot about names and their meaning. Perhaps you can give us a few suggestions, because at the rate we’re going to pick a name, we won’t be able to name our little baby even after he’s born.’

‘So it’s a boy?’

‘Yes, a healthy little boy.’

Desmond lightly rubbed his scar in contemplation as he recalled the many fake names William Miles had forced him to remember. The only reason he even recalled half of them was thanked to his mother, she made it more interesting for him to learn by telling him what each name meant, such as her own name, Ojistah, meant star in Mohawk. Now what kind of boy name should be appropriated for this kind woman’s child? Maybe something about her kindness: Benen? Lufti? No, those sounded too weird for a kid, perhaps something a bit more English.

The young man pondered some more before he proposed, ‘How about Jackson?’

Francis instantly scoffed at his choice of name and openly mocked him, ‘Son of Jack, how original your idea is. Why haven’t we thought of that Nicky?’

With barely concealed anger, Desmond softly explained, ‘It also means God has been gracious or has shown favour. Its meaning depends on the person who will name their child.’

‘God has been gracious,’ Nicole whispered the meaning gently as she rubbed her round stomach. ‘Do you like this name, baby? Jackson?’

As she finished the last syllables of the name she suddenly gasped in pain, Francis was by her side in a flash and checked his wife’s body, thinking that her water broke. The blonde simply pushed her husband back and softly comforted him before her smile returned and she told him, ‘I think my boy likes the name you give him, Desmond. Jackson. That’s going to be your name, my little Jackson.’

Seeing how bright and happy Nicole was after finding a suitable name for her child, the young man was more than able to keep up with the mother’s happiness and not get affected by the pure resentment emanating from Penham, who should have been as happy as his marriage partner was right now, but instead of voicing out his opinions, the brunet chose to keep his famished stomach at bay by satisfying it with the rich flavour of the Scampi Shrimp Spaghetti and the thirst-quenching orange juice were the best gifts he could ever receive.

 

***

 

Desmond left the restaurant with a happy face, not even the thought of spending the night under a bridge or sleeping in some dirty alleys would damper his current feelings. After all, his father made it nearly impossible to be pleased in any way, to him every little thing must be perfect, he rejected works that were near perfection and literally stomped on his works, not caring how much effort he had put in them before he handed them to the tyrant. It was as frustrating as it was depressing.

‘Are you sure you don’t need a ride?’ Nicole softly asked as she stepped out of the fine establishment with her husband’s support and into the night sky. ‘Chicago is very dark when night comes and most definitely dangerous in some districts.’

‘It’s alright, I’ll be fine on my own, Mrs. Penham,’ the brunet replied with confidence. ‘I have already taken too much of your hospitality today.’

‘A small lunch is nothing or the extra dessert,’ she assured with a wave of her hand. ‘I rather enjoy the simplicity of the cheesecake. It’s like everything that looks so small and ordinary, but the simplest action they make brings great happiness to others without anyone realizing it. And you have brought happiness to my little family, Desmond, for that, I am forever grateful.’

‘Um... I... uh... You’re welcome?’ Miles responded hesitantly.

The blonde giggled at his reply and bid him, ‘Good night, Desmond.’

‘Good night, Nicole and... Mr. Penham...’ the brunet added in an afterthought before he adjusted the heavy weight of his bag over his shoulder and left with a wave of his arm before he pulled his white hood over his head and went into a light jog.

Despite the distance putting between him and the couple, he could very easily catch what Francis uttered, ‘I hate this guy.’

‘I find him very sweet,’ the blond countered. ‘I hope Jackson will have the same great heart as Miles and as kind as I am.’

‘What about me? What should he inherit from me?’ the husband demanded in a pushy way.

Whatever answers Mrs. Penham would have made was not heard and a startled gasp was all that echoed in the night, making Desmond paused in his run before he looked and found the couple’s way being blocked by two men, one of them held them at gunpoint. Seeing the weapon made the young man flinched slightly at the sight of it, the unarmed training he had to suffer with an armed opponent, the bruises from punches and the proxy weapon were still fresh in his mind and the supposed Assassin-in-training knew he had very little skill in repelling two attackers with one armed with a real gun, but leaving the kind lady on her own with her worthless husband? He might be able to distract those guys long enough for one of them to get away and find help.

Without a second thought, he began running back and removed his heavy bag, it should provide him with a momentary distraction if he did not miss his mark that usually happened seven out of ten times and he hoped his aim was not part of those three out of ten.

He quickly ran towards the small group. When he was close enough, he threw his shoulder bag with all of his strength, inwardly praying that it hit its target, and shouted warningly, ‘RUN!’

Penham heard it and made a run for it, abandoning his wife who just ducked when she notices something flying in her general direction, but the two would-be victims were unharmed from his bag that lucky landed on the tweaker, judging by the heavy bags and bloodshot eyes, with the gun and gave him a temporary opening in landing a punch on his pal’s ugly face. He turned to the side to check on Nicole who remained on the cement path, shaking and wide eyed, he went to her side and quietly told her they must bail, but she shook her head and murmured in panic, ‘I can’t. My legs...’

His brown eyes did a quick scan on her legs, but he found them void of injuries, so he could not fathom what made her paralyze until he noticed a liquid was spreading and damping the white dress. _Of all the–! Fuck! Her water broke now?!_

While Desmond was trying to figure how to move the woman in labour, he failed to notice the gunman was approaching him from behind with his gun pointed at him until the blonde shouted a distressed warning. The teenager turned around in time to see his murder who cursed him to Hell before pulling the trigger. A painful darkness claimed him.


	2. Kindness' Shapes and Forms

Kindness’ Shapes and Forms

 

 

Aiden Pearce was known as a thief and criminal to some of the underworld denizens, though to those who knew him in a personal level, they knew he considered his family and their needs to be his primary objective than any heist and crime. His mentor, Damien Brenks, often teased him of the fact he was a big softy who needed to learn to be detached from his familial ties like he often did with his son and simply focused on the job at hand, but this time, it was an emergency that could not be ignored or brushed off in his usual cold demeanour. His sister was in danger.

He kept a constant surveillance on his little sister’s location, with her being pregnant with the child of that bastard of an idiot her husband was. Since she had entered the final month of her pregnancy, the hacker had made sure to commit his clandestine thievery near her location, so that he could instantly be by her side if some unexpected events occurred, like she was being threatened by two thugs on high. Aiden kept a careful watch on his smartphone that was connected to a nearby security camera that was filming the whole scene. _I’m going to kill that son of a pig when I am done with those two._

If someone ever asked him his opinion on his brother-in-law, he would say he was a coward who hid behind numbers and stocks than a capable man who could take of his wife. Fleeing at the first sight of trouble and leaving behind a vulnerable Nicky at the mercy of those guys. To simply put it, Penham had won first place in his A-Shit list.

Aiden feared that he would not reach his sister in time when the camera caught a hooded man throwing his bag at the attacker with the gun and used his momentum to punch the downed man’s accomplice. The stranger then went to Nicky’s side and seemed to try to pull her up, but she remained rooted on the ground, mouthing something to the Good Samaritan, whose body began shaking in panic, making the hacker hoped that whatever was happening there wasn’t what he thought it was. _I’ve got to make it to Nicky, I’ve got make it to them!_

He cut through the park and raced towards the area where a loud gunshot was heard, causing him to double his speed in hopes to reach the place before either of the victims got injured. Aiden burst out of the bushes to see the stranger falling onto his back, with a bullet wound on his chest, and his sister let out an ear-shattering scream. The sight made his blood boiled as he flicked out his telescopic baton and landed five hard hits on the attacker, knocking him out cold, before he went to his downed partner and kicked him over the face in good measure. After making sure the two thugs wouldn’t be going anywhere or pulling any more stunts, Aiden immediately went to Nicky’s side, noticing the growing amount of water over her lower body, but she begged him to help and save the stranger, Desmond.

The hacker quickly pulled out his phone and called an ambulance as he checked the kid’s pulse ( _A kid had the courage to defend a total stranger and yet a guy in his early 30s couldn’t?_ ), finding it weak and going weaker by the minute. He left the phone on and beside Desmond’s head, ignoring the mumbling from the operator, as he carefully pulled his head and shoulders over his laps to keep the wound elevated. He searched his trench coat’s inner pockets for some gauze he kept on him for emergency like this. Afterwards he unzipped the unconscious teenager’s hoodie and pulled up the black shirt underneath, a bloody hole greeted him, but the brunet allowed himself a moment of relief when he found it wasn’t a sucking wound, the bullet seemed to be lodged between the left side of his Sternum and one of his ribs, stopping the bullet from hitting his heart and lungs, or else the Good Samaritan would have been knocking on Death’s door by now. He applied pressure on the wound while sparing glances at his sister’s quivering body. _Fuck! What do I do? I can’t stop applying pressure on this guy, he’ll die otherwise! And Nicky’s in labour! Where’s an extra pair of hands when you need them?! Where’s the ambulance now?!_

‘Don’t worry, Aiden,’ Nicole gasped out as she held her hands over her stomach. ‘I’ll be fine, just keep Desmond alive. I can take care of Jackson and myself. AH!’

While the eldest of the Pearce family was sharpened through many hardships he faced in his childhood, Nicole had survived and remained afloat from the harsh world that greeted her when they first arrived in America to escape from their father, something he often forgot, because of her innocence and kindness that were never broken or diminished by reality. Seeing how tough she was right now, despite of her pain, the brother felt a small sense of pride in her.

‘So you’ve finally pick a name for the baby? That must have required lots of neurones,’ the older brother said jokingly, hoping to elevate part of the heavy tension hanging over them like a dense fog.

‘Thanks to Desmond,’ she rasped as she kept her breath as even as possible. ‘We’ve finally settle with something than arguing for another day.’

‘I can imagine,’ Aiden muttered to himself before he applied a pair of new gauze over the bloody one. His free hand went to his phone, checking the ambulance’s location on the GPS, before he switched on the Profiler application, a habit he had developed since he and Damien managed to slip a dormant virus into the profiler system of cTOS, allowing them an easier access to their targets’ bank account, but what was shown on the screen set off many warning bells in his mind. “No File Found” in white flashed brightly to him, which was impossible seeing that Blume had a file on everyone within Chicago, even those who came this morning had already a profile set up in the system, there was no such thing as a ghost in the cTOS. Yet, here he was, saving the ghost who had no record of whatsoever. It was strange, but this was a bad kind of strange, he doubted the guy would be safe from Blume once the police called in and said they had a John Doe who had no record of whatsoever.

He tilted his head slightly over his shoulder, as casually as he could, and asked, ‘What is Desmond’s last name?’

‘Miles,’ Nicky answered before she groaned in pain.

As discreetly as possible, he sent a text to Brenks and demanded him to pull up one of his old fake profiles that he had used to escape from cTOS scans before he found a way to erase his whole record from the server. It was a risky shot to do this, but this guy did save his sister and he never like the idea of leaving a debt unpaid. It often came back to bite him in the ass, a lesson he had learned the hard way, though that was another story for another time. Immediately the file was on his smartphone and he quickly corrected some of the general information, leaving the more or less clean record alone before he uploaded into cTOS. A better vision of it would have to come later. This, at least, would not be paint a large bullseye on the guy’s back.

Just as his upload was completed, the sirens from an ambulance sounded in the night and two of them came around the corner before they both stopped, the paramedics quickly came with two stretchers and holding the emergency kit. The first pair came to check on the injured and Aiden calmly relayed, ‘A single gunshot wound on the chest. The bullet is stuck between the sternum and one of the ribs. It’s not a sucking wound, but he’s still losing a lot of blood.’

‘We’ll take it from here,’ the paramedic with the kit said gently before he went to check the injury himself and then timed the pulse. ‘I got a weak pulse here.’

‘Alright, we better load him up,’ his partner said before he went for portable oxygen mask before they took hold of Desmond’s limbs.

Aiden decided that the man was in good hands before he went to check on his sister who was still breathing very hard on the stretcher as she loaded into the ambulance. Nicole needed him with her right now. The rest was up to Miles if he survived or not.

 

***

 

**_He was on top of a tall tower, where a vast blue sky looked so close to touch while an endless desert land stretched below him. It was freedom, this feeling that blossomed within his chest. Like the eagle that flew across the distant mountains gracefully and flawlessly, nothing could stop it from ruling the sky._ **

**_Yet... he could never truly achieve that freedom, he was earthbound as any human being._ **

**_Unlike many others around, he still tried to reach it despite knowing that he would fall._ **

**_This jump had allowed him to taste this freedom in its briefest moment before he returned to the earth’s embrace. Many simply called this jump as the Leap of Faith.._ **

**_WE’RE LOSING HIM._ **

**_...?_ **

**_HEARTBEAT IS DROPPING._ **

**_What?_ **

**_HE’S GOING INTO CARDIAC ARREST!_ **

**_The sky was starting to blur, but the eagle’s form remained focused as it flew towards the blinding light of the sun. From light, he saw the lord of the sky flying above a great city filled with busy merchants and their exotic wares before it changed its course towards a lush forest where a great oak tree towered above the greenery._ **

**_GIVE ME THE PADDLES!_ **

**_CLEAR!_ **

**_He knew this forest..._ **

**_AGAIN!_ **

**_His mother..._ **

**_CLEAR!_ **

 

***

 

Aiden grimaced slightly in pain, both from the scream that was shattering his eardrums and the iron grip that was breaking every bone in his right hand. Pregnancy was as scary as it was dangerous the hacker had to admit, because Nicole never displayed such strength before and she was going to ship him into the emergency room if she tightened her grip anymore. Hell, Penham would find his hands in a cast when this was over, that pig should be here, not him, but the police hadn’t been able to contact that bastard. He breathed through his nose heavily as he endured the onslaught of the screaming and the torture on his dominant hand as Nicole continued to shriek in pain as the doctor kept telling her to push while the nurses ran around them, checking her heartbeat and preparing different objects for the baby’s imminent arrival.

Soon another scream joined his sister’s, it was more a wail than a scream, but his sister soon ceased her screaming and the wailing was all that remained in the sudden quiet room. The doctor soon brought up a baby, blood and tears coating his blue scrub suit, a healthy boy cried at the top of his lungs as a nurse came with a clean scissors and cut his umbilical cord before another came with a thick blanket. She wrapped Jackson in the blanket before she carefully handed him to his mother who had suffered for an almost five hours long pain, sweats and tears dripped down on her cheeks as she held her baby close and softly cooed. The small sound seemed to calm the wailing infant greatly as he paused in his crying to stare at his mother’s face, a smile soon spread over his little lips and Jackson laughed as his tiny hands reached for Nicky’s face. The sight was endearing in a way, something that made Aiden smiled even though he wasn’t the baby’s father.

‘Do you want to hold Jackson?’ Nicole asked in a whisper of joy with her chocolate-coloured eyes locked on her child.

He nodded as he was given the boy who cried a little as he was held by a stranger, but it soon turned back into a small laughter as he was gently rocked back and forth in Aiden’s arms. His sister giggled a bit at the unusual scene, her often cold demeanour brother holding her child and smiling so openly despite there were nurses and doctor he knew nothing about. In Aiden’s eyes, he was holding a child who wasn’t haunted by their past and who had chased away her sister’s dark past, bringing her a happiness that he was never able to truly give to her. After all, he was the one who would probably die with their family’s dark history, clinging onto him like a mark that would never fade with time. Nicky’s memory was filled with holes of her life back in Ireland, so Jackson’s presence should helped erase whatever memories that were unpleasant in her childhood.

‘Mister Pearce?’ a voice gently voiced beside him, forcing the hacker to keep his reflex in check to not reach for a gun and simply turn to look at the masked speaker. ‘We need to wash off the blood from the baby before we take his height and weight now. I’ll take him for a few minutes sir.’

‘Ah, alright,’ Aiden trailed off as he carefully manoeuvre the child to the nurse’s opened arms. ‘Please be careful with him.’

Despite the lower half of her face being masked by a surgical mask, he was certain she was grinning and laughing in the inside as she calmly told them to wait before she brought Jackson to a corner of the room. The action was no different from taking away the pleasant mood that covered them for as soon as the child left so did Nicky’s smile and she asked him worriedly, ‘Aiden. How is Desmond? Is he alright?’

The question soon made him realize that he hadn’t heard of any news from any doctor or nurse for the past five hours since they were brought in. He gently patted the back of her hand and reassured, ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure he’s fine. If you want to, I’ll check up on him.’

Nicole nodded before she slowly drifted into sleep as Aiden exited the room and quickly removed the plastic hospital gown he was forced to wear over his clothes to keep the room clean. He retrieved his cap and smartphone he had left outside the operating room, feeling more comfortable with his hat covering his wild short hair and the weight of his main weapon in his pocket.

He quickly navigated through the small maze of the hospital to reach the emergency room, where the smell of iodoform was the strongest as he made his way to the receptionist who did not look as worry as some of the nurses and doctors running all over the department.

‘Excuse me, I’m looking for Desmond Miles,’ Aiden started. ‘A brunet in his early twenties with gunshot wound to the chest, he’s brought in around five hours ago.’

The nurse blinked lazy at his request and typed the name in equal sluggishness. The slowness displayed at him was rather annoying and infuriating, but he kept his anger at check to not do anything that was unnecessarily threatening, he chose to distract himself by studying the people in the waiting area. Soon, his sharp ears caught some whisperings from a pair of nurses who were gossiping about the patients they had encountered so far.

‘Have you heard? The guy they’ve brought in around eight o’clock?’ the first nurse asked her friend.

‘Yeah, I’ve heard he got landed in ER 17,’ the friend whispered back. ‘Poor guy, dead before he even has a chance.’

‘I know, I mean, they should’ve got rid of that room ages ago,’ the nurse agreed wholeheartedly. ‘I don’t care if everyone else thinks it’s just a stupid urban legend, but every patient who has ever gone into 17, they are officially dead. Death owns that room.’

Aiden rolled his eyes in exasperation, while he was never one to be superstitious, he did believe in foul play. After all, he and Damien were the magicians within the network as his mentor often like to refer to themselves and commit such acts daily. This whole urban legend could be one of those sappy thrillers of a murderer who thought he or she was a merciful angel by granting those in suffering the sleep of death.

‘ER17.’

Aiden’s thought stopped in a similar fashion to that of a sudden train wreck as he asked distractedly, ‘What?’

‘He’s in Death room, ER17,’ the receptionist muttered dully as he continued with his slow drowsiness. ‘Probably dying.’

Aiden was not usually one to lose control over his temper, but this guy really was really testing his patience. ‘Can you tell his current status?’

‘No,’ the man continued dully. ‘Unless you are family, Regulations do not allow you to have any information concerning the patient in question.’

The hacker bit the inside of his cheek before he discreetly downloaded the file into his smartphone and left without another word. As he followed the direction signs, he kept an eye on the medical file and none of the notes written on it were pleasant in any manner: long and erratic period of starvation, some mending bones, several healing internal injuries and numerous old bruises. The file indicated the above mentioned injuries all started at the estimated age of six. Aiden didn’t get his first set of bloody bruises until he was nine. _What has this kid gone through before getting shot?_

Aiden was not looking forward to the answer to question and, hopefully, the shot didn’t complicate his rather deteriorating health. He knew too well the pain that came from a mix of bullet and mending bone. Though what surprised him right now was the lack of nurses and security guards in the corridor as he approached ER17, possibly because of the stupid rumour that had made them evade it like a plague and that allowed him to slip into the room without anyone demanding his ID, reason, motive and whatnots. The sight within the room was as silent and grey as the empty hallway. From the amount of equipment, he could have sworn Miles was at the wrong floor of the building, because he looked like he belonged with one of those comatose guys lying in Intensive Care.

The heart beat monitor kept droning out the beeping noise of the young man’s heartbeat as Aiden took a seat next to him, his phone out and scanning his face. Again, no records of whatsoever, only the fake file he had produced. Sighing as he closed the profile as he leaned against the chair, watching the faint fog the unconscious kid produced under the gas mask with his shallow breathing. The hacker was not someone who liked to think that Death was always near despite his job often put him in such situations, but anything should be better than waiting for Fate to decide whether you survive or not tonight.

‘Don’t know about you, but I sure as hell wish you’re fighting for your life now,’ Aiden muttered after being unable to bear the continuous silence and annoying machinery. ‘You’ve saved my sister’s and my nephew’s life. Saving someone you haven’t even known for a day, that’s a non-existing virtue in Chicago...’

Seeing the small diagonal scar on his upper lip, he asked, ‘What’s happened to you before you’re here? Running away from an abusive parent? Or is it your life?’

No response, not that he expected, but what did he have to lose from talking to him? Besides, he doubted he could actually hear everything he was saying or remember them when he would wake up. He guessed it could be consider as a confession of sort, at least he wasn’t in one of those stupid confession booths where the priest was listening to whatever bullshits people had to say of their misery and then telling them to believe in God, but he needed to get rid of this lump that was stuck in his heart for almost three decades.

‘I guess you can say I know a bit about running away, but I’m not the one who has made the choice ,’ Aiden started softly as he leaned forward slightly and let his hands rest on his knees. ‘My father has always told me that all males from our bloodline are cursed, he always raves about how we must find the person who’s the cause of the curse. I’ve used to believe in him, all those records of our ancestors and proofs. Every night he’s told me how the curse has started, a little cliché fairy tale: a guy falling in love with someone he shouldn’t and has died in regret to have never expressed his love to his crush.

‘Apparently after his death, every one of his descendants will end up losing the person they love the most. His obsession in finding the lover’s descendants and breaking the curse has broken whatever feelings my mother still had for him. One night she has just woke me up, took me and Nicky and we’ve left without a word or note. And so, the curse he has told me about day and night has come true. I’m not sure if he’s still searching, but if he is, he should be in his mid-eighties by now, he’s probably incapable to do anything on his own or forget us. Whatever his reasons are he has probably given up on us by now. He didn’t even know about our mother’s funeral, no letters or whatnots are ever sent to us.

‘Though I’ve never blame him for that. He’s probably still resenting us or me, seeing that  I’m suppose to inherit this “duty” from him,’ Aiden finished with a shake of his head before he warily glanced at the door, hearing faint footsteps from outside, but like those employees from before, they also left in a hurry. ‘Does any doctor even check up on you?’

He checked the time on his phone that indicated it was half past twelve and he and Damien got another heist to do tomorrow morning. He got up and told Miles, ‘Well, I’ll be going for now, I think Nicky will try to visit you whenever she can. She’ll be here for another couple of weeks.’

He took out a small business card he had picked up from a pawnshop and scribbled down his current phone number on the back and a few words before he left it on the nightstand with the pen on top, leaving the hospital for the night.


	3. Wake Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for those who waits for an update for this story for two years.
> 
> After having lost all of my drafts of the chapters for this story and only managed to salvage their corrupted pieces, I have diverted my attention to other stories, because I've lost my muse for this story and barely found the energy to keep writing after spending a lot of it in trying to restore it and only got pieces of it back. Then something known as college came and kept me heavily occupied.
> 
> For now, I'm back into writing The Silver Fox and The Fledgling. I will probably post less long chapters like I first wanted and focus more getting out short chapters and there's probably going to be a lot of time skip and brief summary of what happens between the chapters, because I have no interest in trying to re-write all the drafts I've lost and is simply winging it.

Wake Up

 

Desmond recalled very clearly those stories his mom would tell him before he went to sleep when he was younger. Unlike his dad, who seemed incapable to tell him anything but the Brotherhood’s bloody history against the Templars, she preferred to tell him stories and legends of her tribe, because she believed that he could find greater meanings in them than what their long and bloody history had to offer. Her words were the sole relief he had from the constant disappointments and taunts Bill Miles would throw at him daily. It was easier to concentrate on the protagonist’s brave deeds than the constant ranting and comparison between him and the well-known Assassins, in terms of failures.

His favourite one was that of a stranger helping the tribe unconditionally when it was invaded by an army. The reason why he liked it: part of him wished someone would save him from his dad. All those physical and verbal pain he had suffered and did not receive any good compliments for his effort? And with half of the Farm backing up Bill’s decisions in continuing this torture? He guessed it was the reason why he developed this desire to be saved.

Of course, like all things within dear reality, there was no one who could save you but yourself. No one helped him in his escape, he planned and gathered his stuffs without anyone noticed anything strange with him, he ran and left that life, but instead of endless liberty, he ended up getting shot. Either someone upstairs hated him or they simply loved torturing him to his death. At least that was what he remembered, the gunshot that still rang in his ears and then he was here. In this pitch black darkness and dying he guessed. Death was as disappointing as he should have expected.

At his thought the place seemed to morph itself to suit his wishes. The white light seemed to be painted on the black canvas before other bright colours spread on the white. Soon a scenery started to focus, but certain elements remained blurry for some reasons, perhaps a blob spot was a more apt description. It was no different from watching a scrapped picture book, though he did not seem to have the choice to choose to stop the show from playing itself. He had to complain about the speed, because it was like watching one of those pirated video on a crappy disk, where some parts either froze or suddenly went slow motion for no reasons of whatsoever, it was getting difficult to keep his eyes opened and on the scene.

Still he managed to watch through squinted eyes at the play before him, watching as the shadow of a figure jumping from tree branches and rocks and heading deeper into the forest where green leaves of the trees seemed to be the sky of this place. Desmond was unsure why this strange thought crossed his mind, though he was sure that the man, at least he believed it was a man, was trying to reach someone. He watched the man approaching a river, following the direction his body turned to face, he spotted a small shape that made of nothing but blobs of ink and heard a strange whistle-like noise coming from it. The noise was familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on where he had heard.

The faceless man approached the shapeless form and stood next to it, his body movement seemed to be telling Desmond that he was enjoying whatever tune the noise was making through skips and beats, taking a seat beside the musical noise, the two of shapes simply stayed next to each other. He was certain that they were talking, though he couldn’t hear a damn thing from them. As he cupped his hands behind his ears to see if he could manage to catch a word or syllable from them, but he soon regretted it as a loud booming noise echoed in the area. He flinched in shock at the sudden explosion of noises and he soon covered them as he fell onto his knees and ducked his head. Before he realized it, the peaceful atmosphere turned into a chaotic battlefield, everything was burned away and screams of both fear and pain filled his ears despite his best effort to muffle the sounds.

This was a fucking nightmare!

He tried to block the horrifying images by closing his eyes, it only made them assault him in large quantity and faster rate, so much that he thought he was going to faint, if one could actually faint from their nightmare. Despite the horror that was slowly branding in his mind, he could hear someone crying, something about justice or was it fairness?

Wait...

No, it sounded more like...

His heartbeats?

It seemed awfully loud...

He tried to move his head to see what was making that sound, but his head refused to comply with his demand and neither did his limbs obey. The only things that he could move were his eyes which were hidden behind his close eyelids, not very helpful thank you.

‘Hey there,’ someone called out softly.

Desmond felt his breath hitched for a second as panic sunk into his bones and burrowed deep into his marrows, the fear of being found by Assassins and the thought they were going drag his comatose body back to the Farm was not pleasant in his mind.

‘Brought you some fresh flowers,’ the voice continued. Male. Early 30s if he had to hazard a guess. Miles could feel the man’s presence and a muffle clinking noise followed along with the faint scent of flowers assaulting his nostrils. ‘Sunflowers. Nicky says you need energy and sunflowers provide the best.’

The young man couldn’t help but cringed inside, because the owner of the voice was forcing those words out, then again, it wasn’t like the first time he heard someone said things like that. Barely anyone in the Farm could act normally when it was someone’s birthday, they just read whatever there was in a birthday card in the same practiced and forced tone.

‘I... I’ve talked to your doctor,’ the stranger announced suddenly as if Desmond was actually listening to his nonsense and he needed to change the subject to keep things from growing too awkward. ‘It seems you’re well on your way to recovery, but the loss of blood you’ve suffered has temporarily stopped supplying air to your brain. That’s why you’re still here. Unconscious.’

He wished to point out that he was conscious and his body was the one that chose to remain unconscious, but his mouth remained indisposed. The man took a seat next to him, keeping a respectable distance from him.

‘I don’t know if you can hear half of things I’ve said, but I really hope you can hear this,’ the stranger announced seriously. ‘Fight. Fight to wake up. I don’t know what kind of crap you’ve been through to get those scars, but are you really ready to give up? After all the misery you’ve been through? I won’t.’

Desmond wondered if the guy had gone through the same shit as he did. The tone and manner he spoke those words that contained both resentment and encouragement told him that everything he said was out of pure sincerity. It was as refreshing as it was comforting, just the knowledge that someone understood the abuse he had gone through.

‘Hmm? Hey can you hear me?’ the stranger suddenly asked.

Desmond unconsciously rolled his eyes to the side where the voice was located, not that it mattered, seeing that his eyelid still refused to open. He wanted to nod or at least give a sign he did hear what he said, but his body remained unresponsive to his commands.

‘If you can hear me, just roll your eyes or something,’ the man ordered.

The brunet’s eyes moved slightly under the closed eyelids once more, still struggling to open his eyelids. Perhaps he shouldn’t force himself further, because he felt his consciousness slipping once again and he couldn’t even focus on what the man was saying.

_It’s not like it matters..._

_Too sleepy..._

***

When he opened his eyes, Desmond simply sighed tiredly as he stared down at the world from below and thought morosely. _And I’m back in this weird dream._

Similar to his previous dream, the details were distorted, but he was mostly certainly not back in the forest. He seemed to be located in some kind of watch tower erected on top of the edge of a rocky cliff, from where he stood, he could see the dark blue sea as far as his eyes could see, though he pointedly ignored the black paint-like spots that seemed to surround the scenery, like dirty stains that the artist couldn’t get rid of. Desmond quickly lost interest on crashing waves of what seemed to be blue paint from his spot on top of this tower, though he wondered where he was if he was back in reality, seeing his surrounding was as barren as the pale coloured rock of the watch tower, just a few spots of yellowed dry grass, at least he assumed those yellow blobs were, and the ground was mostly buried by snow, though strangely enough, his breath did not create any kind of white fog.

The teenager moved back into the tower, away from the ledge where he stood seconds ago, he rather not test the theory of if one would die for real if you fall to your death in your dream, though he soon regretted his decision to leave his spot. By taking those few steps, he seemed to have triggered something and the other half of the tower suddenly broke off and exploded into pieces.

‘Ookkaayy. I’m definitely going crazy,’ Desmond muttered to himself as he stared at the strange sight before him. No longer was there a blue sky with clouds, instead the whole atmosphere turned dark and foggy, it was also filled with strange glowing lights with the debris of the tower floating aimlessly in the air and beyond this whole strange sight stood a simple door on its own little floating island. Perhaps it was instinct or some kind of dream logic, Desmond did not know which it was, he only knew that opening the door would allow him to wake up, but reaching it was the main problem. He might be trained in stealth and infiltration, though parkour was never his best talent, he was mediocre to say the least. Still, he had to try. He just hoped that falling in this place would just put him back at the starting point and not kill him.

The teenager took a deep breath to calm his nerves as he studied the nearby floating debris, trying to gauge if he could make the jump onto one of them. The nearest debris looked like it was around the size of a bed’s headboard, with enough space for him if he stayed crouched on it, still compared to the others that are either too small or too far out of reach, this was the best comprise option and the floating wall next to it was a great bonus. It was a bit of a risky jump, he still did it and barely succeeding. These things looked like they would remain stable, but his weight on them seemed to cause a small shift, making him half dreading that it would overturn in a second. After a minute of complete stillness, the brunet concluded that he was in no immediate danger and carefully shifted his weight to prepare for his next jump.

Thankfully, the rest of his jumps were much smoother than his first one and the debris did nothing other than shifting a few millimetres when he landed on them. It wasn’t until he was near the end that he noticed a little problem. When he first looked from the tower, the chunk of debris he now stood on was closer to the door, now it seemed further than he had expected.

Desmond turned back to stare at the still bright sky from the broken tower, wondering if he should try to jump back, though he quickly shook his head in refusal and returned his attention back to his goal that was only a short distance away. Hell, if he managed to pick up his slack and get through with his plan to run away from the Farm, he could make this jump. There was no way he would start considering going back.

The rock he was on might only give him a few steps for a running start, but it should be enough to get him onto the edge. He hoped it would be enough. Carefully he backed away, putting his whole weight on the sole of his feet with his back hunched slightly. _This is crazy..._

With that last thought in mind, Desmond ran forward and only jumped the moment his foot was on the edge, the momentum brought him close to the edge of the door’s debris and luckily his arms were long enough for his hands to catch the edge, otherwise the abyss below was where he was going to land in. Still it was too early for him to celebrate just yet. Yes, he managed to keep himself from falling, though he was far from being safe either, seeing that his hands were the only thing that were holding to his dear life and his legs were dangling uselessly. Breathing heavily, the brunet forced his strained muscles to move, mentally encouraging himself as his fingers slowly moved forward and clung onto new small crevices on the stone. Desmond smiled slightly as he managed to pull his arms and his upper body over, but when he thought he was making good progress, bad karma struck.

Just as his right hand reached out to feel around the stone for another spot to anchor on, the crevice his left hand clasped on broke and gravity’s sure grip caught him. By chance, his left hand managed to catch the edge, but he was in a more precarious spot than ever and he made the stupid mistake of looking down at the empty void below him. Panic and adrenaline skyrocketed in veins, making his heart pumped in a faster rate than ever, as his other hand reached upward and wildly clawed at the weak edge. His fear proved to be his undoing as his wild movements caused the already frail stone and cement that he held onto to finally break. It was weird how you seemed to see things around you move at a slower pace when you were in life-endangering situation, but he guessed it was just his mind trying to capture the last details of his surroundings before it ceased function entirely. God, he hoped that if he reached the bottom in this nightmare, he would really die and not end up with his arm and leg in cast like the time Bill decided to push him off the edge from the second floor, so that he could finally “grow some balls” for the Leap of Faith.

Desmond screwed his eyes shut as he waited for the sudden rush of air as his body dropped, the only sound he could hear was that of his hammering heart and the only thing he felt was that of the organ drumming against his ribcage.

As soon as he felt his body began falling, he was suddenly jerked to a stop by something, the shock of the sudden stop forced his eyes wide open and the brown-coloured eyes soon widened further when they landed on the object that had saved their owner. If he wasn’t already unconscious in the real world, Desmond was pretty he was going to black out again, because what was holding him up was a corpse. Well, that might not be the right word for it, but he guessed it was not so far fetched either. The being looked like it walked right out of some medieval horror story. Its armour seemed to be mostly made of leather with worn marks of cuts, soot covered holes made from arrow covering certain parts of its armour and clothing, and on top of everything was a cape of animal fur, probably deer skin if he had to hazard a guess. While its face was partly covered by a rounded leather helmet with eye cover, it did not hide its ghastly look. Of course, like in his previous dream, half creature’s face was partly blobbed up by ink that dripped from its skull, while the rest was sunken and dry and black as ink, though what frightened the teenager the most was the dark empty eye sockets that were like miniature version of the void that was beneath him. The longer he stared into them, the more his heart began to beat in fear and nervousness, for he could feel the macabre being’s judging gaze that studied him.

Desmond was staring at Death and it gazed back.

Their staring contest might have last a second or even an eternity, it did not matter to the brunet, for he feared it would drop him if he did not hold its gaze. A small shift was made and the teenager inhaled sharply, feeling the air he had taken lodged in his throat like a heavy stone and clogged his windpipe while his heart skipped a beat before knocking against his ribcage maddeningly in panic. Slowly, the being stood up, its mummified hand held onto his wrist tightly, holding him up like one dangled a small doll by its arm. Carefully, it set him down, causing the teenager let out the sigh of relief he did not know he was holding as his feet finally touched solid floor, but its cold hand did not leave the heated skin of teenager neither did that unsettling gaze ever left his face. Brown eyes locked into the empty eye sockets in fear as the undead brought its free hand up and its index finger lightly ran over his left cheek horizontally, causing the teenager to physically flinch at the cold contact and the being to abruptly withdraw its hand from his face.

Desmond watched its mouth moved, but no noise came from it. The undead kept moving its mouth, seemingly repeating the same word or sentence, and still the teenager could not hear its voice. It also seemed to realize it was futile to continue trying to communicate with him. Slowly, and with an unusual amount of gentleness, the creature simply tugged him towards the door that flew open on its own when they neared it.

Desmond threw his free hand up to shield his eyes from the blinding brightness that emanated from the doorway before his attention was shifted back to the undead who he had only now realized had let go his wrist and instead placed his hand behind his back, giving only the smallest pressure as if to urge him to go through the doorway, which he wordlessly complied while throwing a questioning glance at the silent being. The last thing that was on his mind before he went through the light swallowed his entire vision was. _What kind of rabbit hole have I fallen into?_

***

Brown eyes blinked open tiredly as the owner’s vision began to focus and automatically went to check every corner of the room to make sure there were no weird paint spots or black ink anywhere, he believed he had seen enough of that paint texture in his dream to last a year.

‘Welcome back to the land of the living,’ a rough voice suddenly announced.

Desmond turned his head to the side where the voice came from and brown eyes found themselves locked with green ones. The first thought that came into his mind was how shady the guy looked. The trench coat and baseball cap were really making him looked any less suspicious, reminding him a bit of some of the Assassins’ getups who preferred to hide their face with a headwear instead of a hood. In normal situation, he should be wary of waking up with a guy like that in his room, but after that weird dream, he guessed the rational part of his brain was not functioning properly yet and compared this guy with the undead, the dead guy won the match in intimidation. Still, he should be wary, just because he managed to escape the Farm, it didn’t mean he was completely safe from his father’s clutch. By now, he probably had everyone alerted of his disappearance. God, now that he thought about it, he didn’t even bother to hide his real name. Damn. He was an idiot.

He was brought out of his thoughts when two fingers snapped in front of his face, causing him to flinch in reaction, hissing a bit as his action caused a flare of pain to grow over his chest. _Oh, right. I got shot._

‘Huh. Did you get hit in the head too?’ the guy muttered, though the question didn’t seem to be directed at him. ‘The doctor didn’t really check anything else other the bullet wound. Should have gotten them to check for head injuries as well.’

 _My head is working quite fine, thank you very much._ Desmond thought sarcastically as he opened his mouth to say them, but only coughs came out. His brain barely registered the fact of how dried his mouth and throat were and his coughing only made the itchy sensation in his throat to grow worse as he quickly covered his mouth with his hand and curled up on himself. _God, how long was I out?_

Suddenly, he felt a hand over him. His first instinct was to run, get away from those hands as his body and mind recalled vividly what happened when there were hands on him. There was never comfort from, only pain from harsh trainings and unjust abuses from his dad. Sadly, in his current state, he just flinched from the touch as he curled up on himself further in fear. He hated himself for that, hated the fact that this fear still lingered in the back of his mind when he had escaped it.

‘Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright,’ the rough-looking stranger said softly, trying to sound comforting. He guessed his current reaction was no different from that of a skittish and frightened animal. The comparison made him feel even worse. Then the man, with a gentleness that went at odd with his intimidating appearance, carefully brought up into a sitting position on the bed before he went to pour him a cup of water.

He accepted it with a nod as he quickly took a gulp of water between his coughs until the discomfort in his throat ceased.

‘Thanks,’ he croaked out, voice hoarse from his coughing, before he finished his drink and set it aside.

‘I should be the one thanking you,’ the man countered lightly as he sat back down. ‘You’ve saved my sister and my nephew.’

‘Sister?’ Desmond parroted in confusion before he recalled the event that had landed him on the hospital bed. ‘Oh Nicole. You’re...’

 

‘I’m his older brother,’ the stranger supplied before he extended his hand towards him. ‘Aiden Pearce.’

Hesitantly, the brunet grasped the hand and shook it. ‘Desmond Miles. Nice to meet you, Mr. Pearce.’

The older man chuckled, though it sounded something close to a scoff than a small laugh in Desmond’s ears, as he stated, ‘It’s just Aiden.’

**Author's Note:**

> Like it? Hate it? Do tell.


End file.
